Annabelle
by theicemenace
Summary: Prequel to "Between Past and Present." Clint and Natasha meet their daughter for the first time. Note: This story and the original, "Between Past and Present" do not take into account the events that occur in "Marvel's Agents of SHIELD" or "Captain American, The Winter Soldier." There is a small mention of CATWS in the prologue.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is a prequel to _Between Past and Present_ where Clint and Natasha first meet their daughter, and does not take into account the events of _Marvel's Agents of SHIELD or Captain America: The Winter Soldier_.

Thanks to ladygris for the Beta.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Annabelle**

**A Tag to Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 1**

**Five Years Ago**

**Newport News, Virginia**

"I'm sorry, Dr. Rankin. She's gone. TOD, 1427."

Diane Rankin turned away from the doctor and nurse assisting with the emergency C-section, stripping off her gloves, gown and mask. "Wait until after dark then dispose of the body."

No one questioned her orders, now or in the past because they all knew none of them would be working in this field of research without the private investors she brought in. If they balked or outright defied her directives, they wouldn't just find themselves out of a job. They'd be dead. Just like the surrogate, Sarah Barrow.

But the important thing was that the baby girl had survived. Secondary to that was the child's lineage, the DNA that went into creating her. The woman who had died giving birth was not genetically related to the child. And once Rankin had determined that the little girl was healthy, she would be adopted by a family of Rankin's choosing. A family who would raise her as their own while allowing tests to be performed on the child. Of course, they would be well compensated for their time and inconvenience. That's why she would be sent home with her assistant.

"Dr. Rankin?"

"What?"

Her assistant came up beside her, his jaw set in a stubborn line. "We need to talk about the baby. My wife has changed her mind."

"She signed the contract. You both did."

"I know, but she's not comfortable with some of the terms of that contract, and I have to agree with her." They reached her office and he touched her arm to stop her. "A child, even this one, isn't a bargaining chip. She should be with her parents. Her _real_ parents."

Turning to face him with her arms crossed, Rankin radiated annoyance and irritation. "It's only been a few weeks since the invasion made a mess of Manhattan. They're hardly in a position to take care of her at this point."

"They're only two of thousands of people who almost died during the attack. Having her to take care of might be just what they need to focus their energy on life again." He waited a few beats while Rankin thought it over. "Not only that, but it's the right thing to do for the _child_. She should be with them, not strangers. How else will you know if your theories are correct?"

Rankin opened her office door, the light coming on automatically. "I'll think about it. Monitor her vitals and call me if any problems develop."

"Of course."

Ten days later, Rankin admitted to herself that her assistant was right. The baby wasn't thriving. If she were an adult, Rankin would have to say she was depressed. And if the child died, her research would come to nothing, and the investors could pull their funding.

Picking up the landline, she dialed a number she'd gotten from a friend who worked for the U.S. government. It was answered on the first ring. "My name is Dr. Diane Rankin. You don't know me, but I have something of yours…"

~~O~~

Snorting, Clint replied, "How can you have something of mine if I don't know you?"

"_It's a long story. Come to my lab in Newport News, I'll explain_."

Clint was about to tell Rankin to go **** herself, but his curiosity was piqued. If this was an attempt to seduce him, an invitation to visit her lab wasn't going to do the job. "What time?"

"_Let's say eight tonight? Oh, and bring Agent Romanoff with you._"

"She's unavailable. It's just us, doc."

The amiable tone Rankin had used until then changed, her voice going harsh and demanding. "_If she's not able to join us, then don't bothering coming yourself._"

The voice rattled off an address not far from the Big Bethel Reservoir not far from the Harbor Baptist Church and slammed the phone down. Confused and bewildered, not to mention pissed off, Clint found himself wanting to do the same. It was just after thirteen hundred leaving him with seven hours to wait for the big reveal of this weird mystery. Kicked back in his chair, Clint booted up his computer. "Search all databases for Dr. Diane Rankin."

Unlike the computers in _Star Trek_, this one didn't make a verbal response. While it was working, he went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee and grab a sandwich. Nothing elaborate. Turkey on whole wheat. The bread tasted like sawdust, but Natasha had been nagging him to eat a healthier diet. With the Black Widow, resistance was futile.

The computer beeped and he rushed back to his desk, setting the coffee out of the way and standing in front of the seventy-inch monitor that took up most of one wall. Touching the screen, he dragged most of the info off to one side and minimized it. The one document left he enlarged next to a photo of a woman in her forties with dull brown hair cut in a short, unflattering style, brown eyes and an arrogant smile.

_Rankin, Diane Elizabeth, M.D.-Ph.D._

_**DOB:**__ 12 July, 1964_

_**Place of birth:**__ Twin Falls, Idaho_

_**Parents:**__ Rankin, David Lester and Rankin (nee Chester), Melanie Francis, both deceased_

_**Siblings:**__ None_

_**Place of employment:**__ SHIELD research facility, Quantico, Virginia (terminated 17 February, 2008)._

_**Attended:**__ Johns-Hopkins, University of Romania, __Texas Tech University Health Science Center School Of Medicine_

_**Area of Study:**__ Human Genetics_

_Sentenced to five years in Peyton Medium Security Penitentiary. Released after serving two years due to good behavior_

_Current whereabouts unknown_

Arms crossed, one finger tapping his chin in thought, Clint continued to read about Diane Rankin. He even skimmed one of her articles though he only understood parts of it. "What does a geneticist want with me and Nat?"

Dragging the personal info out of the way, Clint pulled up one of the doctor's articles written for an online magazine geared toward medical professionals. Nearly all of it was way over his head, and he knew it would be the same for Natasha. He considered not going, but his curiosity wouldn't shut up. The spy in him wanted answers to this mystery and the only way to get them was to show up at the appointed place and time _with_ Natasha.

Scooping the phone from the desk, he dialed his friend and partner. "Hey, it's me."

"_What do you want, Clint? I'm busy._"

"You got plans for tonight?"

She huffed into the phone and in his mind's eye he could see the scowl. "_If it's any of your business-which it's not, yes I do_."

Grabbing his coffee cup, he returned to the kitchen for a refill. "Cancel them. We got a mission. Sort of."

"_What are you talking about? I just got off the phone with Hill and she didn't say a word_."

"This is a personal mission. Just the two of us." Clint told Natasha what he knew-which wasn't much-and finally she agreed to ride out to Newport News with him. She would swing by his apartment and pick him up at fifteen hundred. The drive was over two hours and they wanted plenty of time to scope out the place before the meeting with Rankin. In the meantime, he would continue digging.

~~O~~

"_Don't see anything unusual. Makes me more'n a little twitchy_," Clint said into the headset in Natasha's right ear. She had climbed onto the roof of the building across the street from where the meeting with Rankin was to take place while he completed a perimeter sweep.

"Me too. I checked out security."

"_And?_"

She sighed with annoyance, quietly so Clint wouldn't hear. "A little overdone for a research facility. Sentries armed to the teeth, motion detectors, floodlights, booby traps. Nothing we can't handle."

"_Then I'm comin' down. Let's go eat._"

Natasha put away the binoculars and returned to the car. Clint joined her shortly thereafter and they drove down the street to a casual restaurant for dinner. Using a code they'd devised themselves, they planned out how they would gain access without going through security.

At precisely twenty hundred hours, Natasha and Clint burst in to the main lab where five men and women in white lab coats were working at a variety of equipment whose functions escaped Natasha.

Clint yelled, "Freeze!"

The scientists looked up with little interest and returned to their work, all but Rankin who came to stand in front of the agents. She looked them over with a brash smile. "Right on time. And please put those weapons away. The equipment doesn't respond well to gunfire."

Clint demanded, "Why did you call me? What do you want?"

Rankin turned her back on them and headed for a door on the other side of the lab saying over her shoulder, "Come with me and I'll explain."

She stopped at the door when they didn't immediately follow giving them a pointed stare. Natasha exchanged a glance with Clint and together they followed Rankin down a long hallway to another door. The card reader beeped and the door clicked. She pushed it open then went in ahead of them.

Inside, Natasha's eyes scanned the room left to right while Clint performed the same task in the opposite direction and coming back to Rankin with puzzled frowns. There was a bed, several tables and cabinets as well as a small kitchen area. A woman in scrubs was sitting in the corner with a tablet pretending she hadn't seen them.

"First things first. Scrub up and put on these gowns." Rankin took two folded pieces of cloth from a drawer and placed them on the counter then stood out of the way while first Natasha then Clint did as she said. Natasha knew without consulting him that Clint was prepared to go along with whatever Rankin requested of them, but only to a point. If she didn't get near a point soon, they'd be having words and Clint's language could get very colorful, and not just in English. Like her, he spoke several languages. The ones they used most often with each other after English were Russian and French. With Russian being less common, they frequently used it to communicate in relative secrecy.

The doctor motioned them forward. Clint glanced over his shoulder when the door clicked shut behind them then followed when Natasha took slow and precise steps over to the where Rankin was looking down at the figure in the bed.

Together, Natasha and Clint said, "_Bozhe moi!_"

~~O~~

Lying in the crib was a sleeping baby less than two weeks old dressed in a pink body suit with a pink cap and wrapped in a blanket. The little girl sighed in her sleep startling Clint. Few things scared him and babies were one of them. In his entire life, the closest he'd come to a baby had been at the orphanage, and even then he hadn't been allowed to hold one. Sometimes at night, he'd hear one or more crying, and after that he always found it difficult to go back to sleep. Moving a step closer, he carefully rested his hand on the rail and let Natasha question Rankin.

"Dr. Rankin, why are you showing us this child?"

"So you can see first-hand what my work has accomplished. The work that Director Fury tried to stop me from doing. If he'd succeeded, this child would never have been born."

Taking a chance, Clint reached out with one finger to touch the tiny hand, gasping when the fingers latched onto him. "Hey, hey, doc. She's, uh…"

Rankin seemed unconcerned. "It's a natural instinct to seek comfort from another, Agent Barton, whether that comfort comes from other humans or animals."

Her tone told Clint that Rankin was in the small percentage of humans who shunned physical support from anyone. Rankin gently pried the baby's hand from his, and Clint was surprised that he missed the complete trust that he'd been shown without having done anything to earn it.

Natasha came to stand at his side, peering quizzically at the baby. Clint didn't know what made him do it, but he took her hand and placed her finger where the baby could grab hold. She made a small startled jump but didn't pull away.

His voice low to keep from waking the baby, Clint again asked, "Why us, doc? And I don't just mean SHIELD. Why _us_ specifically?"

"I was led to believe that you were the two best agents SHIELD had ever produced. However, neither of you are living up to those reputations." Clint heard the contempt in Rankin's voice she didn't bother to try to hide and found it getting on his nerves. Natasha too, if he read his partner correctly.

Over her shoulder, Natasha flashed a scowl though she didn't make a comment. Not out loud at least. Clint knew what she was thinking though because he was thinking it too. There could only be one reason that the former SHIELD researcher had called them instead of other agents. And Clint found himself wanting to cover his ears and hum so he couldn't hear what was coming next, but that would've been childish and immature. There was no doubting that he could be both at times, but this wasn't one of them. Another thing he didn't like was that smirk.

"Congratulations, Agents. It's a girl."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** This is a prequel to _Between Past and Present_ where Clint and Natasha first meet their daughter, and does not take into account the events of _Marvel's Agents of SHIELD or Captain America: The Winter Soldier_.

Thanks to ladygris for the Beta.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Annabelle**

**A Tag to Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 2**

"Explain yourself, doc, 'cause I'm _really_ starting to lose my patience here," Clint told Rankin, his eyes dark with barely suppressed emotion.

"Me too," Natasha bit out. "Start at the beginning."

Rankin went to the refrigerator and brought out a bottle of water. She didn't offer any to the agents and they didn't ask. "About a year before I left my position with SHIELD…"

"You mean when you were prosecuted for unethical practices and sent to _prison?_" Clint's comment caused Rankin to glare, and Natasha touched his arm. She gave him a slight shake of her head, not-so-subtly telling him to avoid provoking their host.

"As I was _saying_, all agents were asked to volunteer samples of their DNA for we wouldn't have to go to the general public and risk utilizing inferior genetic material. I had the foresight to preserve the majority of those samples for the future.

"After I was released from my undeserved incarceration, I procured private funding in order to pick up where I left off."

Still at the child's bedside, Natasha turned her head just enough to see Rankin, a milder version of her death glare in place.

Rankin took a long drink of water and recapped the bottle before continuing. "The last couple of years I've been putting some of my theories into practice, so to speak. Through genetic splicing, I hoped to create a way for humans to reproduce without the need for artificial insemination for couples who are infertile so they would be able to have offspring that are genetically theirs. As you know, a baby is nothing more than a combination of male and female DNA. At the moment, there's still a need for a surrogate. Hopefully, I'll have the problem of a synthetic womb solved in the next year or so."

"What happened to the surrogate? Can we speak to her?"

Giving an off-handed wave, Rankin stated simply, "There was an emergency C-section. The surrogate didn't make it. If she was still alive, _she_ would be tending the subject and I wouldn't have bothered contacting _you_."

Clint didn't like the way Rankin talked about the baby, as if she were nothing more than a laboratory rat. He also didn't like how she was looking at him and his partner. Neither did Natasha, based on what she said next. "If you're implying…"

"Oh, it's not an implication, Agent Romanoff. It's a _fact_." Rankin nodded at the crib where the baby slept soundly. "Genetically, that baby girl belongs to the two of you."

It didn't take long for Clint to digest the information. Then, quick as a flash, he grabbed Rankin around the throat, spun her around, and slammed her up against the wall, making the room shake, his nose nearly touching hers. "What the _hell_ did you _do_?"

The nurse gasped and jumped to her feet knocking over a chair as she scurried from the room, probably to call security from a safer location. Natasha pulled her hand free from the baby's grip and got up in Rankin's face too. "Answer him!"

Clint bounced the doctor's head against the wall as an incentive to hurry. To their surprise, Rankin laughed. "Or what? You'll kill me?" Her tone dripped scorn. "You're no better than Loki. At least he had the courage not to hide behind a mask of self-righteousness and call it ethics. Before you came to SHIELD you were nothing more than a petty grifter, Agent Barton, conning hard working people out of money they'd spent months saving just so they could take their families out for a day of fun at the circus. And _you_, Agent Romanoff…"

Rankin choked and wheezed as Clint gripped her throat tighter, completely cutting off her air. He would've continued squeezing to the natural end, but Natasha stopped him with two words spoken barely above a whisper, "Clint. No."

He shot a glance her way and found wide hazel eyes pleading with him, and he got what she wasn't saying. If he killed Rankin, then it would only prove her right. Of course, she'd be dead and unable to gloat and he'd be in prison for the rest of his life. But that wasn't him. He didn't kill indiscriminately or just because he could. He was nothing _like_ Loki.

He let go and Rankin slumped, touching her throat that bore the imprint of his hand and would for a long time. She'd be bruised in the morning, but he didn't care, and refused to apologize. What kind of person did something like this to an innocent baby?

Clint rubbed both hands over his face, letting out a long sigh and shaking his head. His voice tight from the effort he was putting into controlling his anger, he said, "What were you _thinking?_ Who _told_ you that it was okay to do this?"

Taking a deep breath in preparation for defending herself and her work, Rankin glanced from Natasha to Clint and back, but apparently thought better of it. A moment later, several well-armed guards burst through the door. Rankin waved them away and they retreated while giving Clint and Natasha the evil eye.

When the guards were gone, Natasha turned on the doctor. "Why did you tell us? You could've just raised her and no one would've been the wiser."

At the sink, Rankin wet a hand towel and used it to sooth the red skin of her neck. "The only way to ascertain the viability of the experiment is for the subject to be raised by two parents. The couple I chose backed out of the contract. I can't raise her myself because I'm not married. The only solution was to contact the two of you."

"You want Clint and me to raise this child? _Together?_"

"Of course. According to the rumor mill at SHIELD, you're sleeping together on a regular basis. Living together is the next logical step."

Clint started to correct Rankin's assumptions, but was stopped by Natasha. "How do we know you're telling the truth? You could be making it all up."

A spark of anger flashed in Rankin's eyes. She clamped her lips together to keep from speaking in anger. After a few deep breaths, she reluctantly spoke, "I can provide all the proof you need. When I knew my termination from SHIELD was imminent, I downloaded all of my research and the genetic maps of every SHIELD employee from Fury down to the dishwasher. Or if you prefer, one of my staff can redo the analysis for comparison with the child's DNA."

"That won't be necessary, Doctor," Natasha answered for both of them.

Now that he'd calmed down, Clint could speak without wanting to strangle Rankin. That was a lie. He still wanted to strangle her, but now he could control the urge. Barely. "You keep calling her 'the child' and 'the subject'. What's her name?"

The researcher rolled her eyes as if he'd asked the stupidest question in the history of ever. "She doesn't have one. You're free to name her whatever you wish. You'll need to submit regular reports on her health and wellbeing."

Natasha and Clint followed Rankin down the hall to one of the smaller labs. There, she had a technician pull up the DNA maps for both agents and the one for the baby. Even with his limited knowledge, Clint could see they matched though there was still the lingering taste of skepticism on his tongue.

"The nurse will pack enough clothes, diapers, formula and other incidentals for two days."

"Excuse me?" Natasha exclaimed.

Again, Rankin looked at the agents as if she were reassessing their IQs downward. "You're taking her home with you tonight. She'll need a place to sleep, furniture, clothes, powder, lotion, diapers formula. In short, anything necessary to provide a safe and healthy environment for her to grow up in."

"But we don't know anything about caring for a newborn," Clint stated without betraying the fear he felt.

As if she hadn't heard, Rankin continued talking, "The nurse will provide you the feeding schedule and basic guidelines. After that, you're on your own."

~~O~~

"Get back here!" Clint made as if to follow Rankin, but Natasha stopped him. "What?!"

Natasha nodded to the baby, who had screwed up her face and started to cry, softly at first, quickly changing to screaming. Clint shrugged. "So? She's not _my_ kid."

Slanting her eyes at the nurse, Natasha made a silent request. Clint taking a deep breath to calm down, he touched the nurse on the arm, flashing his most charming smile. She flinched, obviously remembering his earlier loss of temper. "Would you give us the room, please? Just for a few minutes?"

She nodded and hurried out. Going to the crib, Clint picked the baby up, whispering softly and bouncing her gently. "It's okay, _malyshka._ We're not angry with you. Sh."

The screaming tapered off and stopped, the baby looking up at him with wide eyes. Crossing her arms, Natasha pursed her lips, one eyebrow raised impudently. "You sure about that?"

"What?"

"That she's not your child?"

Keeping his voice low, Clint scoffed. "Oh, so you're on _Rankin's_ side now? Is that it?" He glared, indicating the baby in his arms. "You think we should just take her home and pretend to be a happy little family?"

"That's _not_ what I'm saying."

"That _is_ what you're saying!"

Natasha muttered a Russian curse under her breath. "Clint, it doesn't matter if she's our child or not."

"Damn straight it doesn't!" He returned the baby to the crib, slowly removing his hands, sighing in relief when she didn't start crying again. Taking Natasha's arm, he drew her away from the sleeping child. "Rankin had no right-_none!_-to even create this child in the first place. What does she think we'll do? Suddenly get married, raise this kid and all will be right with the world? I don't know if you've looked around lately, Nat, but we're not exactly in a place where we can do that! Neither of us has the skills to take care of a-a baby."

His condescending tone was the final straw for Natasha. "If _we_ don't take her, who will? Because Rankin just made it clear we have no choice."

"Oh, we always have a choice!"

"Do we?" Her eyes narrowed. "Is it our right to make a choice that will put an innocent baby in the hands of someone more concerned about creating the perfect human being than what's best for the baby?"

He walked a few steps away, rubbing the back of his head. "I haven't told anyone, especially the shrink, but I've been nightmares, flashbacks to the time I spent as Loki's puppet. I _try_ to block it out, but they keep coming. That's why I haven't spent the night with anyone. Hell, the last person I was naked in front of had M.D. after her name, and all she was interested in was my cholesterol and my blood pressure. Do I really have the right to subject anyone, especially a baby, to what I went through?"

Touching Clint on the arm, she waited for him to look at her. "Is it right to condemn her to living in a compound, her every move recorded and criticized, the only affection she gets from anyone being a selfish _svoloch' _who is only worried about his own skin or other…desires?"

~~O~~

All fight went out of Clint. Suddenly, Natasha wasn't just talking about _this_ baby. She was talking about her own upbringing in the Red Room and the life she had lived without the love of anyone, much less a parent. It was enough to convince him. Looking down into her hazel eyes, he couldn't do it. Couldn't leave this child to an unknown fate with Rankin. "Okay."

Clint's sudden change of heart caused Natasha to blink rapidly a few times, the look so comical he almost laughed. Almost.

"Okay what?"

"We'll do it."

Natasha held her breath for a moment then, "We _will?_"

Clint eyed the baby and sighed. "I don't know how, but we'll do it, Nat. I won't let her go through what you did, whether she's ours or not. Besides, SHIELD has foster families for a reason. We'll be able to get her into a home where she'll be loved and accepted for who she is and not what she can do for them, and she'll be okay."

Smiling, Natasha nodded and went to the door, motioning for the nurse to join them. In just a few minutes, the nurse instructed them on how to change diapers and clothes. The woman also showed them how to mix the formula, test the temperature and hold her while she ate.

On the counter they found a strange looking seat. Pointing to it, Clint asked, "What's that?"

"It's a combination carrier and car seat. Harness the baby in, carry her to the car and strap it into the back seat."

Natasha's eyebrows met over her nose in confusion. "I'm sure we can figure it out, but why don't you just show us how to do that?"

"I'm not supposed to, but I'll go with you to the car." She carefully lifted the still sleeping baby from the crib blanket and all, and gently laid her in the seat. With practiced ease, she hooked the straps. "If you bring the rest, I'll carry her."

The trio made their way outside where Clint jogged up the street to get the car. They had parked a couple of blocks away to hide their approach to the building. A lot of good it had done as apparently Rankin had expected them to make their appearance exactly the way they did.

A few minutes later, he pulled up and stopped. The nurse opened the back door and quickly installed the car seat. "This base stays in the car and the carrier just snaps in and out. You'll want a stroller for when you take her for walks, toys, a playpen, games that stimulate her senses. Just go to any department or baby store. They'll be happy to help." Taking a small tablet from her pocket, the nurse sent information to Natasha's phone. "That will get you started."

As she turned away, Clint called out, "Wait! What if we have questions? Neither of us has spent any time around babies."

"You'll do fine." She gave the agents a half-smile. "Did both of you get a good night's sleep last night?"

"Yes. Why?" Clint answered for both of them.

"Because that's the last one you'll have for a _long_ time. Kids don't sleep so much as recharge. Some advice, if I may. Teach your child _how_ to think, not _what_ to think. Children see magic because they look for it, if you let them, and you'll see it too. And the best thing parents can do for a child is love each other." Then, she turned and walked away leaving the agents standing beside the still running SUV gaping at her.

~~O~~

Not quite certain what to do next, Natasha busied herself with stowing the bags in the rear of the SUV then got into the front passenger seat, buckled her seatbelt and just stared out the front window. From the corner of her eye, she could see Clint doing the same thing, hands resting on the steering wheel. After a while, Clint took a deep breath, held it then let it out but didn't say anything. He didn't need to. She knew what he was thinking.

_Bozhe moi!__ A __baby__._

Out loud, she said, "We should go." Clint started the engine, shifted into drive and slowly pulled onto the main road. They'd gone about a mile when she heard the first whimper from the back seat. "I think she's starting to wake up."

"What do we do?" Clint asked.

As if that were a signal, the baby started crying in earnest making them both cringe. Taking out her phone, Natasha accessed the information sent by the nurse, using her finger to scroll. "Here it is. She ate just before we arrived so she's not hungry. Maybe she needs a diaper change."

Clint glanced at her then back to the road. "How do we tell?"

For an answer, Natasha reached back to squeeze the diaper. "Doesn't feel wet. According to this, sometimes they just need comfort."

"Should we pick her up?"

"Let's try music first." Eager to make it back home without having to stop, Clint turned on the radio. The first station was set to Clint's favorite, a fusion of classic rock and jazz, but all that did was make the baby cry harder. He scanned the stations, stopping on each one until they found something she liked. The look of amused annoyance startled a snort out of Natasha.

"She likes _country?_ Really?!" Clint pulled to a stop at a red light, turning to look into the back seat as the baby's fussiness slowly calmed and stopped. "Sonofa…"

"Clint! Watch your language around the b-a-b-y." Natasha aimed a glare at her partner when he laughed out loud. "What?"

Keeping his voice low, Clint looked at her sideways, both hands drumming on the steering wheel and a cheeky grin. "I'm pretty sure she _knows_ what she is. You don't have to spell it out."

Instead of glaring, Natasha grinned too. Then, just as suddenly, the humor faded. "What are we gonna do, Clint? I never planned on having children."

"Neither did I, but here we are." He shrugged, hitting the gas when the light changed. "We're far from perfect, but we'll figure it out, and do the best we can for her, Nat."

~~O~~

Once the baby had gone back to sleep, Natasha took out her phone to order a strike team to round up Rankin and her people. The researcher would go back to prison with no chance of time off for good behavior because SHIELD didn't play by the same rules as other law enforcement agencies.

"…Normally, we would lead the team, but that's not an option this time…No, Director. We were off the clock…Of course. It's a long story. You'll have our full report in the morning…Yes, sir." She held the phone in one hand and stared out the window.

"Why didn't you mention the, uh…"

That Clint's hesitation frustrated Natasha, her words coming out clipped and angry sounding. "Baby. She's a _baby_, Clint. How are you going to help raise her if you can't even say the word?"

She jerked sideways in her seat when Clint swerved into the parking lot of a closed hair salon. He got out and she followed, knowing the reason behind this behavior. Their arguments had reached legend status within SHIELD not only because of how loud they could get, but also for them frequently degenerating into physical encounters. On a few occasions, they'd had to be broken up by security and once by Hill. They'd been careful not to let it get that far again.

Natasha moved just her eyes as she watched Clint pace. Eventually, he slowed down and stopped in front of her, rubbing the back of his neck. "God, Nat. What the _hell_ are we gonna do with a _baby?_ If our enemies find out about her, we're in deep…doo-doo."

Torn between fear and humor that Clint was already censoring his language, Natasha shrugged. "I don't know, Clint." A moment later, she was in his arms, pressed against his chest. "Let's go see Fury." She let herself be comforted by her partner for a little while longer then pushed him away and returned to the SUV. "She's supposed to sleep for at least a couple more hours. Let's go now."

His boots crunched in the gravel as he went around to the driver's side. "And if she wakes up again, he'll tell us what to do."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** This is a prequel to _Between Past and Present_ where Clint and Natasha first meet their daughter, and does not take into account the events of _Marvel's Agents of SHIELD or Captain America: The Winter Soldier_.

Thanks to ladygris for the Beta.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Annabelle**

**A Tag to Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 3**

Side by side, Hill and Fury stared down at the table top then at Barton and Romanoff. Bending down, Fury looked into the carrier at the baby, his head tilted to the side. "She looks like Mickey Rooney."

Hill crossed her arms to keep from touching the baby. She wanted to, and that in itself was strange. She hadn't held a baby in more than a decade, and even that incident had been brief. "How do you know Rankin was telling the truth?"

Romanoff mirrored Hill's stance. "We were shown a comparison of the child's DNA to ours, though that could've easily been faked. She has the skills. However, we found irrefutable _physical_ proof that she's ours. Clint?"

"Why do _I_ have to…Okay, fine."

A smirk tried to crawl onto Hill's face as she watched Barton rub a generous amount of anti-bacterial sanitizer over his hands up to the middle of his forearms. In her opinion, he used way more than he needed. He waved his hands around until they dried then lifted the baby's right hip and pulled the edge of the diaper out of the way to show a birthmark in the shape of a star. Hill's smirk turned into a chuckle. "You have a _star_ on your ass, Barton?"

"What? No! _Nat_ has one."

"And you know this _how_, Agent Barton?" Fury asked with a glint of humor. Obviously the director had heard the rumors about Barton's and Romanoff's supposed off-duty relationship.

"_Bozhe moi__!_" Romanoff turned her back and bared her backside. There, at the downward curve of the right side just above the upper thigh, was a light brown star shape identical to the one the baby had. Once they all had a good look, she pulled the pants back up.

Hill pursed her lips to wipe the smile away. "So you're the mother. How do we know Barton's the father?"

The archer huffed and raised the baby's left arm. Using his forefinger, he poked her gently in the ribs. She giggled in her sleep, her chubby little cheeks dimpling.

Fury and Hill did a classic double-take, glancing from the baby to a smirking Barton and back again with their mouths open. "Son of a *****!"

Waving a hand, Barton huffed at them. "If you need more proof, do a DNA test."

Hill accepted the confirmation of parentage as is. Still, she would have the DNA tests run. "We can talk about what to do with her in the morning. I'll contact the SHIELD vetted foster homes."

The door chimed and Hill excused herself. She was back in just a few minutes, her face set in a scowl. "The strike team got Rankin, but just barely. The building was rigged to explode which it did, killing two of Rankin's people and injuring five of ours. When they accessed Rankin's files, the self-destruct was tripped. Just before, the computer made a massive data dump to an unknown location. I have IT working on tracking down the IP address, but they're not optimistic."

Huffing, Fury glared back. "Tell them to _get_ optimistic. We _need_ that location."

"It might not do any good, sir. The signal had been bounced around the world at least seventeen times and never through the same server twice. When they evacuated, it had just gone through an anonymous server in Madripoor and was headed for Taiwan."

Stopping just short of growling, Fury nodded. "Tell them to keep trying."

"I did, sir." Hill wandered back over to the carrier. "What's her name?"

Romanoff came around to stand next to Hill. "We'll have to give her a name before she goes to foster care, but we've just been calling her Malyshka."

"Little Girl? That works for now. I also had Kripke do some digging. Rankin didn't file a birth certificate."

"Naturally. Is there a way to find out what happened to the surrogate? Rankin said she died, but didn't give us a name."

Going to the computer, Hill called up what little they could find on Rankin and her people. "The funding for her research was acquired privately. After tracking it through about forty dummy corporations, I told them to stop looking. Most of her employees are medical professionals who either had their licenses revoked or had been involved in some sort of scandal that made it difficult for them to find employment in their chosen field.

"As for the surrogate, Kripke located several women in the general area of the lab who have recently given birth and died. Only one of which had a cesarean. Her name is Sarah Barrow, twenty-six, from Baltimore, single, no family, reported missing by her roommate over a year ago. The case went cold until two week ago when a Jane Doe was found in a shallow grave in Lexington, Kentucky. They're shipping the body to the compound so our doctors can go over their findings, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's your incubator."

Malyshka whimpered, bringing one hand up to push against her cheek, and a moment later she began crying. Softly at first, quickly escalating to screaming.

Hill moved out of the way when Barton hurried to Romanoff's side. As a team, they checked her diaper, finding it dry. Romanoff took out a bottle, removed the cap and stuck the nipple in the baby's mouth. She pushed at it with her tongue indicating she didn't want it.

The partners looked at each other then at Hill and Fury as if they had the answers. When Hill looked back with a '_what do you want __me__ to do?'_ expression, the pair just heaved nearly identical sighs. This whole night was very strange indeed. However, what happened next floored the SHIELD director and deputy director.

Barton unbuckled the harness, slipped one hand under the baby's head and neck, and the other under her bottom to lift her out. The crying eased off a little at his touch, but didn't stop. Romanoff dug in the bag and came up with a folded piece of cloth which she laid over Barton's shoulder. Using Fury's computer, Romanoff called up a video with lyrics from YouTube. He draped the baby over his shoulder and began singing so softly that Hill had to strain to hear. At first she thought it was her imagination, but then realized it wasn't. Barton was singing along with a Garth Brooks song, and the baby loved it, especially when he swayed side to side and rubbed her back.

_Blame it all on my roots__  
__I showed up in boots__  
__And ruined your black tie affair__  
__The last one to know__  
__The last one to show__  
__I was the last one__  
__You thought you'd see there_

___And I saw the surprise__  
__And the fear in his eyes__  
__When I took his glass of champagne__  
__And I toasted you__  
__Said, honey, we may be through__  
__But you'll never hear me complain___

_'Cause I've got friends in low places__  
__Where the whiskey drowns__  
__And the beer chases my blues away__  
__And I'll be okay__  
__I'm not big on social graces__  
__Think I'll slip on down to the oasis__  
__Oh, I've got friends in low places_

Hill thought Barton had a decent singing voice, and she knew for a fact that he disliked country music with a passion. She armed herself with teasing banter that went unexpressed when Malyshka stopped crying and went back to sleep. Barton continued the singing as he laid the baby back in her carrier and slowly removed his hands. He motioned them away and the group tiptoed over to the window.

Keeping her voice low, Hill inquired, "How did you know to do that?"

"Looked it up. We eliminated each item on the list of reasons why babies cry. When we got to 'wants to be held', I picked her up and she stopped crying. Just by accident we found she likes being sung to." Again, the partners exchanged a glance.

The glare on Romanoff's face wasn't directed to her companions as proven by her next words. "Rankin and her staff weren't interacting with her except to attend to her basic needs. That's why she wasn't thriving under their care, and probably whey they called us."

"Babies need nurturing," Clint added. Hill shot Barton a bemused glance at his response and he shrugged. "Human babies aren't that different than animal babies. They require the care of an adult until they're old enough to do for themselves. I figured if tiger and lion cubs received comfort from cuddling with their mothers, then it would work for humans too. That she likes country music is an annoying fact of life we'll just have to put up with."

Fury raised his chin. "Hill?"

"The families in D.C. advised that their homes are filled to capacity at the moment so you'll have to do the best you can until one becomes available. Could be a few days or a few months." She picked up one of the many bags the agents brought with them as they stared idiotically at her. "I'll help you out to the car."

Barton secured the harness around the baby, hooked a bag over his shoulder and picked up the carrier. Resigned, Romanoff snatched up the last bag and the trio left Fury's office by the rear entrance.

Hill, the last one out, looked back in time to see Fury sit down, dropped his head into his hands, and try his hardest not to fall over laughing. "Barton and Romanoff parents."

~~O~~

Clint unlocked the front door of his apartment and went inside followed by Natasha who'd insisted on carrying the sleeping Malyshka. She removed her jacket while he took the bottles of formula from the bag and stuck them in the refrigerator. It hadn't been easy getting past apartment security with the baby, but they'd managed. Now if only she'd be quiet while she was here, the neighbors wouldn't know about her either.

"Where will she sleep?" Natasha called out from the kitchen.

"It should only be a few days 'till she goes to foster care so the carrier should be okay." He joined her in the kitchen. She was filling the kettle to make tea. This late, coffee wasn't a good idea and he agreed, taking down two cups and dropping a bag of decaf mint in each. "Thanks."

Behind him, Clint heard Natasha move to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room where she could see the carrier. Did she feel as paranoid about having a baby around as he did? Probably not. As Fury was fond of saying, Natasha was comfortable with everything. Had Fury foreseen a day when either of them would be temporary guardians of a tiny human who had no choice but to put complete trust in two strangers? Fury was the director of SHIELD for a reason. His ability to draw conclusions based on little or no evidence was a small part of it.

"For?"

The kettle whistled. Clint poured water into each of the cups and handed one to his partner. Together they returned to the living room and sat down where they could watch the baby sleeping. "Stopping me from killing Rankin."

Clint was graced with one of Natasha's rare spontaneous smiles that came from genuine humor. She bumped his shoulder with hers. "Couldn't let our child grow up without a father."

Setting the cup on the table away from the carrier, Clint gave Natasha's hand a squeeze. He chuckled and shook his head. "Our child. Those are two words I never thought would apply to _us_, of all people_._ And when the foster parents take over, it won't."

"I know." She pulled her hand free.

Getting to his feet, Clint picked up their cups and went to get them a refill. He set the cup in front of her and stayed standing. "You can stay the night. I'll get you something to sleep in, and sleep on the sofa."

"I don't mind the sofa." She sipped her tea, her eyes on Clint.

"My apartment, my rules. Guests get the bed," he said as he dug sleep pants and a T-shirt from the dresser. Though Clint couldn't see it, he knew Natasha was smirking.

"I bet the times you've slept on the sofa are few and far between."

"You won't believe this but you and the cleaning lady are the only women who've been within these hallowed walls for at least six months."

A floorboard creaked as she came to stand in the bedroom doorway. "You just moved in six months ago. And I know it hasn't been that long since you've gotten down and dirty with the opposite sex."

Holding out the clothes, Clint deadpanned, "Sex is only dirty if you're doing it right."

"That's _not_ an answer, _Eblan._"

"It's the only one you're getting." He nodded at the ensuite. "I'll watch her while you get a shower."

Smiling her thanks, Natasha exchanged the cup for the clothes, and went into the bathroom. He carried both cups to the kitchen and returned to the sofa to watch Malyshka. She moved in her sleep when Clint touched her cheek, turning toward the contact, seeking his warmth the way a flower instinctively turns toward the sun. He indulged her unspoken request by taking her hand, those tiny fingers too small to go all the way around his finger.

A strange feeling started in his chest and he rubbed it with his free hand, but it just got worse. Almost like heartburn, but it felt _good_.

The council had cleared Clint of the allegations that he'd helped Loki of his own free will, though some were still wary around him, no doubt thinking if he'd succumbed so easily the first time, he could be taken in even easier the next time. Yet without knowing anything about him other than he attended to her needs, the baby they called Malyshka had given him complete trust from the moment they met. Clint wondered what this little girl would think of him if she knew what he was really like, and some of the things he'd done before he became one of the good guys.

As it always did, that brought to mind the loss of his friend, Phil Coulson. "I wonder what your Uncle Phil would think of you, and I'm sorry you won't get to meet him. He died the way he lived, defending the Earth and her people. Someday, when you're old enough to understand, someone will tell you about him."

The bedroom door opened and Natasha came out still rubbing her hair with a towel. Gently removing his finger from the baby's grip, he got to his feet. "Still sleeping."

"Good. I'll go over the schedule while you shower and work out how we're going to handle feeding and sleeping."

"I won't be long." Clint rushed through his shower and dressed without drying completely. Rubbing his head with a towel, he opened the bathroom door to the sound of crying. Natasha was holding Malyshka and walking the floor, humming and rubbing her back the way he'd done earlier, but it wasn't helping.

A plastic bag filled with a rolled up diaper lay on the floor next to the coffee table. Natasha glared, but not as if she was blaming him. "Would you fix her a bottle, please?"

"Sure." Clint rushed to do as Natasha asked, testing it on the inside of his wrist the way the nurse had shown them. He handed it to Natasha who'd stopped pacing to sit on the end of the sofa. She bumped the nipple against Malyshka's lips and she latched onto it, sucking greedily. "Want me to take her?"

"I think we're okay for now. But don't go anywhere."

Taking a seat at the opposite end of the sofa, Clint watched Natasha feeding their child. She was looking at the baby and didn't see his wistful yet sad smile, nor did she notice when he used his phone to take a photo. The baby would be going to foster care soon and Clint wanted at least one reminder of the time they spent together, even if no one else saw it.

**TBC**

**A/N:** "Friends in Low Places" is a song performed by American country music artist Garth Brooks. It was released in August 1990.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** This is a prequel to _Between Past and Present_ where Clint and Natasha first meet their daughter, and does not take into account the events of _Marvel's Agents of SHIELD or Captain America: The Winter Soldier_.

Thanks to ladygris for the Beta.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Annabelle**

**A Tag to Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 4**

The morning dawned cool and dreary, the sky threatening rain. Natasha snuggled deeper into the pillow with the covers up over her head. Just as she was about to go back to sleep, the events of the night before flashed through her brain. She threw the covers aside, jumped out of bed, and padded to the bedroom door, easing it open. Clint was asleep on his stomach with the carrier on the floor and Malyshka holding onto his finger.

Natasha tiptoed across the room to kneel next to the carrier. Her sense of smell told her the baby needed changing. But how to do it without waking Clint? The archer himself solved the problem by withdrawing his hand and shoving it under the pillow. He turned to face the back of the sofa and Natasha took the opportunity to grab the diaper bag and carrier and return to the bedroom. The baby was still asleep, but if she kept to the schedule given to them by the nurse, she'd be waking up soon and would be hungry.

Spreading a towel on the bed, she took out a fresh diaper, powder, and warm clothes to combat the chilliness of the day. Digging in the bag of clothes, Natasha found footie pajamas though no jacket or mittens. She slept through the changing process to Natasha's relief. She didn't want Clint to think she couldn't handle caring for a ten pound baby on her own.

Putting the dirty clothes in a basket separate from Clint's clothes, Natasha finished washing her hands as Malyshka started fussing sending the Russian rushing to the kitchen to prepare a bottle. She made it back to the bedroom before the crying turned to screaming. Stacking pillows against the headboard, she scooped the baby up and sat down cross-legged, and got the bottle in the baby's mouth just in time. "There you go, Malyshka. After you eat, we'll have a burp then, when Clint is awake, we'll see what he wants to do.

"I know you don't understand, though maybe one day you will. You need someone to care for you, who will love and accept you for what you are, and we do. There is nothing you could ever do that would make us treat you like second best. But, _lyubimaya,_ we're not in a position to care for you right now. And don't worry. You'll be with people who will be good to you. And if they aren't, they'll have me and Clint to set them straight. Oh, and we'll give you a proper name. What do you think of Edith? That's Clint's mother's name." The baby made a noise that sounded like a negative response. "Yes, I think you're right. It _is_ a little old fashioned. What about Sofia? That was my mother's name."

"Sofia Barton?"

Natasha put the bottle aside as Clint came to take the baby. "Whatever the first name, her last name will be Barton-_Romanoff_. _If_ we were keeping her." As soon as Malyshka was brought into the upright position, she burped making Natasha smile. "Good girl!"

"We don't want to give her one that'll get her beat up on the playground." Clint's computer beeped to let him know he had an email. He went into his office and Natasha pulled out the chair for him. The email icon flashed in the lower right corner and clicking on it opened the application. "Most of this is crap."

"What's that?" Natasha pointed to an email that had come from Shapiro, Davis and Newicky, Attorneys at Law.

Clint quickly read the text, not liking what it said. "It's from Coulson's attorneys. He left a video to be delivered in the event of his death."

"You gonna watch it?"

"Might as well." She started to leave, but he grabbed her hand. "Stay."

Dragging a chair over, Natasha sat down and waited for the video to start. Like Clint, she didn't want to watch because that would make Coulson's death completely final.

Coulson's smiling face appeared against a neutral background, their friend wearing his ubiquitous dark blue suit and subtle tie. "_If you're watching this, Clint and Natasha, then I'm gone. And hopefully, my death had meaning…_"

Rubbing Malyshka's back, Clint huffed. "How could he know you're…"

"…_I know the two of you better than you know yourselves, Clint. Of course Natasha's there_…

"_I have only one regret. Because I'm the last of my family, there will be no one left to remember my sister, Annabelle, and my mother, Rose. They were all the things that I'm not. Kindhearted, beautiful and loving, and it was my honor to have known them. They were taken too soon, and deserve to be thought of once in a while_…

"…_I've also left a video for Audrey Nathan. Please see that she gets it_…"

Clint hit pause and stared at the monitor for a long moment, voicing what they were both thinking, "What about Annabelle Rose?"

After a moment of thinking it over, Natasha smiled. "Annabelle Rose Barton-Romanoff. I like it. Once she gets to the foster home, she'll need another last name."

He sighed and got slowly to his feet, carrying their daughter, now officially named Annabelle Rose, over to the bed. Rather than putting her back in the carrier, he laid her on the bed on her side, using a small pillow to keep her from rolling onto her stomach. "Don't worry about it now. She can't stay cooped up inside all day and night. How about we take a walk in the park?"

"Can't. It's cold and she doesn't have a jacket or mittens."

Clint grabbed clean clothes from the closet. "I'll run to the store for a stroller and something warm for her to wear."

Natasha jumped up from her chair as he went first to his bedroom for clothes then into the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack. "I can go."

"Nat, you helped stop an alien invasion. Taking care of a baby for an hour or so will be a piece of cake."

She looked from the baby to the bathroom door, scowling at his implication. "I'm not afraid to be alone with her."

The water came on, telling her that Clint was splashing water on his face. He came out drying his hands and face with a small towel. "Of course not. Should I get formula too?"

"Couldn't hurt. How long before she can eat other food?"

"About four months. Did the nurse say anything about allergies?" He said the last as they returned to the living room where he took out the can of powdered formula to make note of the brand.

"No. _I_ don't have any and the only thing you're allergic to is poison ivy so it shouldn't be a problem."

Clint grabbed his jacket, phone and wallet on the way to the door. "Call if you think of anything else she might need."

The door slammed and Natasha went back to the bedroom to make sure he hadn't awakened the baby. Standing there looking at the sweet face of their child, she smiled. "Hello, Annabelle. Welcome to the world."

While waiting for Clint, Natasha's phone rang. "Romanoff…Five _weeks?!_ No, no problem…We can handle it…Thank you." She hit end then speed dialed Clint. "Hill called. It's going to be over a month before there's an opening for her so get whatever you think we'll need."

Natasha jabbed the end key with her thumb and tossed the phone on the dresser then went to make coffee and see what Clint had in the way of food, huffing at his empty cabinets. The refrigerator only held a few condiments, some bottles of beer and a to-go container that had been in there for way too long. She threw it out along with an expired bottle of mustard and a jar of pickles. In one of the drawers she found menus from various restaurants in the area that delivered. Choosing Italian, she called and placed an order. The owner recognized Clint's address and promised to have the food there within the hour.

That hour had nearly run out when Natasha heard a key in the lock and Clint pushed the door wide. "Okay, guys. Just put it all in there."

A group of muscular young men carried boxes and bags into the apartment and set them down in the dining room and on the table. "Sure t'ing, Mr. B. You want we should help ya put it all togedder?"

"We got this, Bruno." He passed each man a crumpled bill and herded them into the hall.

"T'anks a bunch, Mr. B." Bruno tipped his hat and nodded to Natasha. "Pleasure, Mrs. B."

Swinging around, Natasha was presented with Clint's back as he crouched next to one of the boxes. "What _is_ all this?"

"I got her a crib so she doesn't have to sleep in the carrier, clothes, toys, formula, blankets, a stroller, diapers, a few other things."

"A _few?_ Clint, it looks like you bought out the store_._"

He shrugged, showing her a sheepish grin. "Never had a kid before. Besides, when she goes to foster care, it'll go with her."

Taking out his knife, Clint slit the box open and laid out the pieces. While he did that, Natasha fetched his tool box, and together they assembled the crib. He saw to Annabelle's needs while Natasha washed the sheets, blankets and clothes. Then, while Clint was feeding her, Natasha hung a musical mobile over the bed.

After they had lunch and a nap, all three of them, Natasha packed the diaper bag with everything she thought they might need while they were out, including extra blankets. The promised rain hadn't happened and now the sun was shining through the few leftover clouds. Clint dressed Annabelle in warm clothes, an all-in-one suit, mittens, and the knit cap they brought her home in. They tucked a blanket around her, making certain her hands were covered. She didn't like it at first, but she got over it when she realized they weren't going to give in.

They didn't to hide her from the neighbors and security, boldly pushing the stroller out of the elevator and across the lobby to the front door. Jerry, the security guard, held the door while Clint and Natasha carried the stroller down to the sidewalk, and with heads held high-and in disguise-they walked the three blocks to the park where they joined the nannies and other parents enjoying the cool spring afternoon.

~~O~~

That night, Clint again slept on the sofa, or rather he tried to. Natasha had insisted the crib be placed in the bedroom with her, but that meant Clint couldn't sleep because Annabelle wasn't where he could see her. Thinking that a run on the treadmill would tire him out, he walked down the hall to the workout room, standing with his hand on the doorknob but not going in. Instead, he went into the office.

Leaning against the door jamb, ankles and arms crossed, he tried to imagine it as a nursery. The crib would go against the right wall as far from the window as possible. The panes of glass were bulletproof "smart" windows. With just the touch of a button, an electric current ran through the glass turning it one-way. He could see out, but no one could see in.

The alarm would have to be upgraded and all the walls, carpets, curtains, and furniture cleaned. In fact, the entire apartment would require child-proofing. He started making a mental list, his mind screeching to a halt when he realized that he was acting as if Annabelle would live with him and Natasha instead of the foster home. But such a scenario wasn't possible. Not with the jobs they had, and the enemies they had made over the years. If word of her existence reached those enemies, there wasn't a place on Earth that they could hide her. The only logical thing to do was put her in foster care and have her moved every few months to keep her off the radar of people who wouldn't hesitate to kill her. Clint had only known Annabelle just over a day and would be devastated if he lost her. Hell, it was only their second night together and he already couldn't sleep because she wasn't with him. What would he feel like when she left in a few weeks or if that time stretched to a couple of months? A year? What if the three of them were a normal family and one day she went off to college? Got married, and had children of her own? Or God forbid, joined the military or SHIELD?

Closing the door with a solid click, Clint returned to the living room, grabbed the pillow and blanket, then quietly opened and closed the bedroom door. He spread the blanket on the floor near the crib, dropping the pillow at one end. Before lying down, he took a moment to watch his daughter sleeping. She was curled up in a ball on her side, just like Natasha, but without the hand under her pillow wrapped around a handgun or knife. Rubbing his hand over the fuzzy light brown hair, he sighed. Barely a day in her presence and already he didn't want to give her up. But for her sake, he would…and make frequent trips to watch her from across the street.

The bedclothes rustled, Natasha came to his side, and together they watched their child. After a while, she nudged his shoulder to get his attention. "Bring your pillow. You can sleep on the bed."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. We're both adults, and we've slept in the same bed before."

Clint touched Annabelle's hand once more, snatched up the pillow and blanket, and lay down on the other side of the king sized bed. He was asleep within moments.

In the morning, he awoke to Annabelle crying and Natasha walking the floor with her. Rubbing his eyes, he asked, "What's wrong?"

"I don't _know_. She's been fed, burped and changed. I tried playing with her, but she wants nothing to do with the toys. I turned on music, but _that_ didn't work either." His partner was frustrated and he didn't blame her. "She just woke up so she's not sleepy. She's too young to be teething, there's nothing poking her, and she doesn't have a fever."

"Is there someone we can call?"

Natasha switched Annabelle from her left to her right shoulder as if she'd been doing it for months instead of hours. "I have a contact in Stuttgart, a nurse. We met while I was on a mission a few years back. I'll give her a call."

They passed the baby from her to him. He took the drool cloth, as Clint called it, and tossed it over his shoulder. As soon as Annabelle came to rest against his chest, the crying slowed and finally stopped. "Sonofa…"

Hands on her hips, Natasha's lips turned up in a wry smile. "Huh. She's a Daddy's girl."

Grinning, Clint rubbed Annabelle's back in small circles, his hand covering her entire back. "I guess so."

"I'll go make us some coffee. If you're hungry, I could heat up the leftovers."

"Sure." By the time Clint smelled the Cavatappi Rustica and Conchiglie Al Formaggi heating in the oven along with bread sticks, he'd decided that Annabelle needed a bath, but he had no idea how to go about doing it. "Nat, I was thinking."

"About?"

"This being parents thing. Most couples have months to prepare for a newborn. You and I had none." At her huff, Clint held up a hand to forestall the snarky comment he knew was on the tip of her tongue. "She can't go weeks without a regular bath, plus there's probably lots of other stuff we should be doing. What if we took a crash course in Newborns 101?" He grinned at her, one eyebrow crawling up his forehead. "'Cause I have an idea."

**Early the Next Morning**

Clint rushed to answer the intercom while Natasha sat in the armchair holding Annabelle who had just finished eating. "Yeah?"

The voice on the other end was Jerry, the security guard. "_Mornin' Mr. B. There's someone here from some agency._"

"Send her up, Jerry." Clint gave the room a quick glance to make sure he'd gotten all the boxes and other crap picked up so they'd make a good impression on their visitor. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Clint opened it, the smile on his face freezing in place. The person standing there was _not_ what he expected.

"Hi. Grady Tyler from TLC. I'm your new nanny."

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** This is a prequel to _Between Past and Present_ where Clint and Natasha first meet their daughter, and does not take into account the events of _Marvel's Agents of SHIELD or Captain America: The Winter Soldier_.

Thanks to ladygris for the Beta.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Annabelle**

**A Tag to Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 5**

A sardonic smile turned up the right corner of Grady's mouth, "…though I prefer the term 'manny' for obvious reasons."

Like Clint, Natasha's smile of greeting froze in place. The man was in his early thirties, six-one with black hair and brown eyes. He was dressed in khakis, a long sleeved T-shirt and a denim jacket. When he stuck out his hand, Clint looked at it stupidly before taking it. "You're a guy."

"That's what it says on my birth certificate." Still with that smile, Grady shoved a hand into his pocket bringing out a badge with his picture and vital statistics. "You can verify my identity on the website if you like. I'll wait out here."

Clint took out his phone, using it to scan Grady and his ID. The phone beeped to indicate that Grady was who he said he was. It also sent a message to the agency to let them know he'd arrived at his assignment. Clint stood back, inviting the manny into the apartment. "I'm Clint Barton. Natasha Romanoff. And the baby is Annabelle."

"Mr. Barton. Ms. Romanoff." Though Grady's expression showed casual interest, Natasha could see he had something on his mind, and it didn't take long for him to voice that concern. "If you don't mind me asking, why do the Avengers need a nanny?"

Clint came to stand next to Natasha, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. "That's a long story." Again, Clint's phone beeped. He glanced at the screen then turned it so Natasha could see it as well. Their eyes met in silent communication.

Annabelle started fussing, and Grady reached out his hands. "May I?"

Natasha nodded and Grady picked her, walking in a circle and bouncing her gently. "Well, hello, Annabelle. My name is Grady, and I'm going to help your mom and dad take care of you." To Natasha and Clint, he said, "She's beautiful. Is there anything I need to know? Allergies? Likes and dislikes?"

Natasha watched Grady pace, Annabelle's cries tapering off and finally stopping. "No known allergies and she likes music. We've had her less than two days so that's about it."

Clint crossed his arms, feet planted shoulder width apart. "Actually, Grady, what we're looking for is someone to teach _us_ how to take care of her."

Thinking Clint was joking Grady chuckled then realized he was serious. "You've never been around kids?"

"Not in the way you mean. Neither of us have ever held a baby before Annabelle. We've got the diaper changing, feeding and changing her clothes down, but have no idea how to bathe her, how to tell when she's sick or any of the thousands of other little things that go with having a child. And there's just so much you can learn from the Internet."

"No problem. I can help with that. Has her umbilical cord fallen off? Typically that happens seven to twenty-one days after birth, and sponge baths are recommended until then."

Natasha shrugged. "She has an innie, if that means anything."

Grady smiled. "It means she can get a tub bath." Annabelle stared at him with wide eyes as he picked up a cloth covered rattle holding it less than a foot from her face and shaking it. "Is Annabelle ready for her first bath with Mommy and Daddy? Of course she is."

Pursing her lips to keep from laughing at Grady's high-pitched sing-song voice, Natasha glanced at Clint. He covered his mouth with a fist and coughed to hide a laugh as they motioned Grady into the bedroom.

The manny looked around. "Where's the tub?"

Clint dropped to his hands and knees to drag a box from under the bed. "Didn't open it yet."

"Go ahead and get it set up and cleaned. And while you do that, Annabelle and I will get to know each other. Won't we, sweetie?" Grady left the bedroom still talking to their daughter. "So what kind of music do you like, Annabelle? Rock? Heavy Metal? Country? I know! Classical. No? Well we'll just have to figure it out, won't we?"

The stereo came on, crackling as Grady tuned it to one station after the other until he found a country station and Annabelle stopped fussing.

~~O~~

"…Next we'll wash her hair. Mr. Barton, take her out of the tub and wrap her in the baby towel…hold her like a football tucked under your arm, face up, with your hand supporting her head and neck…good. Now hold her head over the tub, and we'll have you do this part, Ms. Romanoff. Take a cup and fill it with some of the warm water and pour it over her head. Be careful not to get it in her eyes…Dribble a few drops of baby shampoo on the top of her head and gently rub…good. Now rinse…Once that's done, if you want to gently comb her hair, go ahead. It stimulates the scalp and helps prevent infantile seborrheic dermatitis, better known as cradle cap. It's not pleasant to look at, but harmless. And it's _not_ caused by poor hygiene…Pat her dry. Her skin is soft and delicate, so you don't want to rub. Get between the fingers and toes…Perfect! Now let's get her dressed."

Once Annabelle was fully dressed again, including the knit cap, her eyelids drooped and she went to sleep. "Most babies don't take well to sudden change and many of them don't like lying down when they're awake. When my sisters were babies, we had to hold them upright so they could look around or all hell would break loose.

"There are several ways of holding a baby. While she's sleeping, we can go over them."

Now that the nerve-wracking first bath was out of the way, Natasha was ready for something simpler.

"You already know to support the head and neck. When you're sitting for a long time, your arms may get tired. Just place a pillow underneath for support. That's the cradle hold.

"The snuggle hold can be done standing, sitting, reclining or even lying down. Turn baby tummy to tummy with you. Make sure the head is turned to the side to prevent obstructing her breathing." Natasha sat on the sofa and leaned back into a semi-reclined position and turned Annabelle so she was lying on her chest. Grady gave her a smile of approval. "Babies also like the security of hearing your heartbeat and being close because that's what they've known prenatally. It's also a good position for when they're not feeling well. Being close to Mommy or Daddy gives them a sense of closeness for the bonding experience.

"There's also the football hold like we did for the bath. This allows the baby to see your face better. Be sure to talk to, smile, sing and read to her. By encouraging your baby to smile, you're helping her develop self-esteem. It lets her know that her feelings are important and that she can affect her environment. It's also important for her overall brain development. You should see her first social smile at six to eight weeks.

"Moving on, let's not forget the belly hold. It's basically the cradle hold with the baby on her stomach over your arm. Kind of like a cat draped over a branch or the arm of the sofa. It's also good for calming your baby. Just lightly pat or rub her back."

Annabelle slept through the entire process, and Natasha was grateful for a small miracle. "Clint, why don't you put her in the crib and I'll make us some coffee."

~~O~~

Clint took Annabelle, trying out the belly hold for himself. She seemed to like it though it looked and felt awkward. He switched to the snuggle hold, and as he reached the door, Natasha called his name. When he turned, she snapped a photo with her camera.

After laying her in the crib, he couldn't stop looking at her so that by the time he rejoined Natasha and Grady, the coffee was done. They talked for several hours, both agents taking notes. Then, Grady left with a promise to come back every day for the rest of the week.

After feeding Annabelle her evening bottle, Clint ordered from the Indian restaurant up the street. He stayed with Annabelle while Natasha went home for clothes and personal items. By the time she returned, he'd fallen asleep, pretending he didn't hear as she changed into pajamas and crawled into the other side of the bed. He was just about to doze off again when Natasha curled up against his side, whispering, "Our little girl is amazing."

Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he smiled against the top of her head. "I know. Now go to sleep."

Less than two hours later, Clint and Natasha were brought suddenly and rudely awake to the sound of Annabelle crying at the top of her lungs. "What the…"

Together they rushed to the crib, Natasha saying, "What's wrong with her?"

"Maybe she's hungry. Get her a bottle while I change her."

Natasha didn't even call him a name for issuing an order, and for that he was thankful. Normally, neither of them had a problem going from sound asleep to full wakefulness in seconds, but tonight, it was different. His brain was fuzzy and he couldn't stop yawning. He grabbed a diaper, the powder and a clean set of pajamas. When Natasha returned, he was just doing up the snaps. She picked Annabelle up and sat on the foot of the bed to feed her. As soon as the nipple touched her lips, she latched on, sucking the formula down as if she hadn't eaten in days instead of hours.

He disposed of the diaper, washed his hands and came to stand in the bedroom doorway to watch Natasha feeding their child, a strange sensation whispering through him. With no reference for the emotion, he couldn't at first give it a name. Then, it came to him, sort of like being hit, not by a bolt of lightning, but a soft, fluffy pillow. The dreams he'd been having since the invasion had been horrifying. Again and again, Loki would touch his chest with the scepter, turning him into a remorseless killer. Except for the last few nights. The presence of Annabelle had calmed his mind more than the meditation, long hot showers and hour after hour of therapy. Certainly talking to the shrinks wasn't helping, but he continued to go on the orders of Fury and the council.

Natasha set the bottle aside and brought Annabelle into an upright position preparing to burp her when an enormous belch came from the tiny throat. With a grin, Clint came to take the baby from his partner, the dark gray eyes looking at him as if he'd done something that surprised her. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. Annabelle Rose Barton-Romanoff. And the crowd goes wild!"

Switching her over to the right arm, he plucked a soft rattle from the pile of toys on the shelf of the changing table and moved it around in front of her face eight to fifteen inches, just like Grady had told them to. According to Grady, play also could alert parents to possible vision or hearing problems. Clint knew she could see the toy because her eyes followed it. He put it out of her sight then shook in near each ear. She seemed to be reacting to the sound, but he couldn't be sure.

Setting the toy aside, he started swaying and when she'd gone to sleep, he laid her in the crib. As soon as he let go, she cried. He tried swaddling her, but that just made it worse so he left the blanket off. And so it went for the rest of the night. As long as Clint or Natasha held her while swaying or walking, she slept. But once she was in the crib, the crying would start again.

**Two Weeks Later**

When Grady arrived, he found Natasha asleep on the end of the sofa and a sleep-deprived Clint walking the floors, both still in their pajamas. The same pajamas they'd been wearing for three days. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink and the last of a pot of coffee sizzled in the bottom.

Without being asked, Grady cleaned the coffee maker and started a new pot. "Have either of you eaten today?"

Wearily, Clint shook his head no.

"What you need is some time away. I'm not talking _days_. Just a couple of hours. I'll stay with the princess while you and Ms. Romanoff go have brunch, maybe take a walk. It's half past ten now. Shower, change and we'll see you back here around three."

Clint sent Natasha into the ensuite while he used the second bathroom down the hall. They met in the living room less than thirty minutes later. At the door, Clint turned back. "Call if you need anything."

"I've been doing this for almost ten years. We'll be fine, Mr. Barton. You and Ms. Romanoff go and have a good time."

Still, Clint lingered in the doorway until Grady closed the door in his face and engaged all three locks. He and Natasha pressed their ears against the door until they heard Grady go into the kitchen and turn the water on. A few minutes later, the unmistakable sound of dishes being washed told them what their manny was up to. Breathing a sigh of relief, they left the building and walked to a café up the street where they ordered ice tea and sat there sipping and trying not to yawn. Clint's gaze met Natasha's and they both chuckled. "God, Nat. We really _are_ parents, aren't we?"

~~O~~

Clint and Natasha called Grady to come for a few hours so they could have a little time for themselves. They went to the same small café they'd been going to since the invasion. In this area, the damage hadn't been as bad so most of the merchants hadn't experienced a sudden end to their business though many did have to deal with a drastic reduction. Most were pushing on through though, and Clint was glad to see the community coming together to support each other. Though their faces and deeds had been replayed ad nauseum, no one treated them any differently than they had before Loki and his schemes made a mess of Manhattan.

The food was delivered, and Natasha had just poured the dressing over her salad when Clint's phone rang. Without looking at the caller ID, he answered. "Grady? What's wrong? Is she okay?"

"_Who's Grady?_"

To Natasha he mouthed _Hill_. "We're on _leave_, Hill. What do you want?"

No sounds came through the phone so it was difficult to tell where Fury's 2IC was. "_Thought you'd like to know we found a foster home for __Malyshka_."

Stunned, Clint could only stare at his plate until Natasha nudged him with a questioning look and he turned the phone so she could listen in. "Her name is Annabelle Rose. And you said it would take over a month. It's only been two weeks."

"_A place opened up unexpectedly, so whenever you can get her there. I'll text the info._"

Clint hit the end key and carefully set the phone on the table. He pushed his plate away, suddenly no longer hungry. After a long moment, he said, "No rush, right?"

Natasha picked up her fork and poked at her salad. "Tomorrow's soon enough."

Nodding, Clint agreed. "One more night won't kill us."

"Right." Again, there was a long silence then Natasha signaled for the server. "We're taking this to go."

**The Next Morning**

**A Suburban Neighborhood**

**Location Undisclosed**

Hill assured Clint and Natasha that they'd have access to their daughter's current whereabouts whenever they wanted or needed it. The partners appeared to be content with that, but Hill couldn't be sure because they were more subdued than usual. If she had to guess, she'd say they weren't happy about getting back to their normal lives.

While Hill looked on, Clint passed Annabelle to Natasha for one last cuddle and kiss before handing her over to the foster parents chosen to take care of their baby girl. "Can we come by and see her?"

The plump, dark haired woman going by the name of Pamela Travers, who looked like everyone's stereotypical idea of the perfect mother held Annabelle in capable hands, smiling apologetically. "It's not recommended as it can be very traumatic for both child and parents. We'll send photos and regular reports to Commander Hill regarding the little one's progress."

From the house, Hill watched Clint and Natasha get into her SUV and just sit.

~~O~~

Out in the car, they sat without starting the engine, staring straight ahead. With a huff of frustration, Natasha started the engine and drove away.

At Clint's apartment, Natasha packed her belongings and left without saying good-bye. For the next month, she went through her daily routine by rote. Working out, eating, shopping, spending more than a little of that time thinking about Annabelle. She hadn't seen or spoken to Clint in that time though she knew he would be doing the same without work to keep his mind busy.

Frustrated with her inability to focus, Natasha decided that a long run in the park would help clear her head. She had just passed the five mile mark when she saw something that stopped her in her tracks. Up ahead, a couple were coming toward her pushing a stroller. They looked happy as the father crouched next to the stroller to check on the baby. She couldn't tell from this distance if it was a boy or a girl though in her mind, the baby looked like Annabelle. And again, the urge to see her came close to overwhelming her. Resolutely, she pushed it down and completed her run.

Natasha got out of the shower, wrapped one towel around her body and used another to dry her hair. Standing in front of the mirror, she combed out the auburn strands that now hung past her shoulders in waves and came to a decision. Picking up her phone, she made an appointment with her stylist, got dressed and left.

Three hours later, she was again in front of her mirror turning side to side, examining the new style. Her hair had been cut all one length an inch above her shoulders and straightened, something she'd have to do after every washing. With all this time on her hands, the extra minutes with the flatiron wouldn't matter. She had another session with the staff shrink this afternoon and would once again strongly _request_ a return to work release.

By dinner time, Natasha was home and packing to leave on a mission, and she hadn't even had to threaten the shrink. Her cell rang as she was headed for the door, and she answered on the fly. "Romanoff…I'm just on my way out the door…No, we haven't been out to see her…No, I don't _know_ for a fact that Clint hasn't gone because we haven't talked…Does it matter _why?_ We just haven't…I see…Of course. We'll be there as soon as possible."

The bag hit the floor as Natasha speed dialed Clint. "Hill just called…I'm picking you up so send your company home." Not giving him a chance to respond, she shut off the phone and took the stairs down to the garage, got in her SUV and pulled into traffic without looking causing other drivers to slam on their brakes and swear at her.

Natasha pulled up in front of Clint's apartment building, only stopping long enough for him to get in before speeding off. He got his seatbelt on and for the first few minutes they didn't say a word. Both had spoken to Hill and knew what the situation was. Talking about it wouldn't get them there faster.

Once they were on the highway out of the city, Clint said, "I didn't have company."

Huffing, Natasha, voiced her opinion, "I heard a woman's voice, Clint, _and_ I speak Spanish. '_Eres una niña muy hermosa_'. 'You are a very pretty girl'."

Clint laughed. "I was talking to my housekeeper's _nieta_. She's four years old, _niña tonta_." She looked over at him with a sheepish grin that morphed into her death glare when he added, "Admit it Nat, you're jealous."

"I'm _not_ silly and I'm _not_ jealous." Okay, so she was a little jealous, but wouldn't give her partner the satisfaction of saying so. "Just drop it, okay?"

He smirked at her. "_You_ brought it up."

Silence became their companion again. They should've talked, but what would've been the point? It was what it was. There was no changing the past. In theory, anyway. All you could do was change the future.

Natasha stopped in front of the sprawling single-story ranch house behind a familiar SHIELD-issued vehicle. Hill had arrived ahead of them and called from here after doing a recon to assess the situation for herself. _Trust, but verify._

The front door opened and Hill stepped out onto the front porch, inviting them to join her with a lift of her chin. As Natasha and Clint approached, they could hear a baby crying.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** This is a prequel to _Between Past and Present_ where Clint and Natasha first meet their daughter, and does not take into account the events of _Marvel's Agents of SHIELD or Captain America: The Winter Soldier_.

Thanks to ladygris for the Beta.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Annabelle**

**A Tag to Between Past and Present**

**Chapter 6**

Hands behind her back, Hill slanted her eyes at the partners. "As you can hear, there's a problem. I'll let Ms. Travers give you the details."

Opening the door, Hill motioned for Clint and Natasha to enter, giving in gracefully when Clint waited for her to go first. Hill was as tough as any man, but she was still a woman, and if he learned nothing else from his mother, it was how to be a gentleman even when women insisted on being treated as equals. Both Hill and Natasha knew this and accepted the gentlemanly gestures with a nod or a smile. This time, they did neither and he didn't expect it. All Clint wanted was to get to Annabelle.

A very tired looking Pamela Travers was pacing the living room floor, her feet automatically avoiding the toys and stuffed animals strewn all over showing that she was indeed an expert at child care just as his research had told him. A few times, he'd been tempted to hack into the Travers' webcams for live video of Annabelle, but that would've made it even harder to let her go. Now, here they were.

The relief Pamela displayed may have been overdone for most people, but for her, it seemed right as she continued her pacing and bouncing in an attempt to calm the crying baby in her arms. "Mr. Barton, Ms. Romanoff, thank you for coming."

Before she could go on, Clint rushed to take Annabelle from her, holding her against his chest. The crying paused for a moment then started up again. Natasha was there lightly drawing her fingers over Annabelle's head now covered with light red hair, whispering soothing words in Russian. It helped, but not enough. "Sing, Clint."

He nodded while searching his memory for an appropriate song. The longer he hesitated, the harder she cried so he went with the first thing that came to mind.

_I'm comin' home, I've done my time_

_Now I've got to know what is and isn't mine._

_If you received my letter telling you I'd soon be free_

_Then you'll know just what to do, if you still want me._

_If you still want me._

_Tie a yellow ribbon 'round the old oak tree_

_It's been three long years, do you still want me?_

_If I don't see a ribbon 'round the old oak tree_

_I'll stay on the buss, forget about us, put the blame on me._

_If I don't see a yellow ribbon 'round the old oak tree._

The crying slowed and finally stopped as Clint swayed and rubbed her back as he softly sang. Annabelle turned her head, her little nose grazing the side of his neck. "Huh. Maybe it's not just country she likes."

With an affectionate smile, Natasha touched Annabelle's cheek. "Told you she was a daddy's girl."

Pamela sat heavily on the end of the sofa. "There's always a period of adjustment when a child comes into a new environment so we didn't think anything of the fussing for the first week or so. We tried everything to make her feel cared for and safe. Even moved her crib in with Paul and me. It worked for a while. Then, when she stopped eating, we took her to the doctor and he suggested we take her to a psychologist. It's very unusual for a child that young to need therapy. Calling Commander Hill was our last resort. Thank God it worked."

Paul came from the back of the house. "She's a beautiful child, and we're happy to have her with us. This last week, she's only eaten a couple of times. She had gained three pounds then lost almost five. According to the child psychologist, she was grieving for her parents, and if we let it continue, she literally would've died of a broken heart."

Again, Annabelle started crying. To Pamela, Natasha said, "That's her hungry cry."

Pamela went to the kitchen, Natasha on her heels coming back in less than two minutes with a warmed bottle. Clint passed Annabelle to Natasha and the moment the nipple was in her mouth, she began sucking, staring at Natasha with wide eyes still filled with tears.

The foster parents looked on with awe and relief. "Thank God," Paul whispered. "I'll go get her things packed."

"I'll help," Clint stated, following Paul to the back of the house while Natasha sat in a comfy armchair to feed their daughter.

~~O~~

On the way to Clint's apartment, Natasha brought up the idea of them moving in together to care for Annabelle, but he wasn't happy with that idea because he'd only been in his place for six months. They argued-quietly-and in the end, the decision was made to continue with shared custody in separate households, Natasha giving in when Clint showed that he'd already remodeled his office into a nursery.

Natasha called the nanny agency and requested Grady for the rest of the day. When told he was on another assignment, she advised the woman on the phone that no other candidate would do. Send Grady or no one. An hour later, Grady showed up at the door. Natasha gave the manny a basic overview of the last few weeks and offered him a permanent position as Annabelle's permanent caretaker, and he accepted.

While Grady helped Clint bring the furniture up from the SUV and set it up in Annabelle's room, Natasha split the time between playing with their daughter and watching her sleep, falling asleep herself lying on Clint's bed. She awoke in the morning to find Clint on the sofa with the crib next to him and one hand touching Annabelle because that's the only way she would sleep. According to the SHIELD shrink, it might be a while before she stopped feeling a sense of abandonment, and indulging her at the moment wouldn't harm her later in life.

Natasha bought her apartment just over a year ago and had just finished decorating it. Now she'd have to remodel the second bedroom for Annabelle. Clint offered to do the work himself with Natasha and Annabelle staying at his place until it was done.

Hill came around a few days later to check on them and to let them know that all the documentation necessary to show that they were Annabelle's parents had been placed in the system, and was unimpeachable under their assumed names. She also gave them IDs, credit cards, bank account numbers and so forth to back up their identities.

Keeping her voice low, Hill voiced her concern. "Are you sure you want to do this? It's not going to be easy. You'll spend the rest of your lives looking over your shoulders."

For one of the few times in her life, Natasha allowed herself to show true emotion in front of someone other than Clint. "We'd rather do that than go on without her. _Nothing_ and _no one_ has ever been as important to me as our daughter."

Clint picked up the thread, "The day Rankin called, I had no idea how my life could be changed by something so small. She _needs_ us, Maria. And _we_ need _her_."

Hill slanted her dark eyes from Clint to Natasha and back. Then, she gave the partners one of her rare genuine smiles. "Good. Take as much time as you need to get settled."

Natasha and Clint walked Hill to the door, and when it looked as if Clint would express his thanks physically, Hill crossed her arms and glared. "If you hug me, Barton, I won't hesitate to hurt you."

Not smiling though the twinkle in his eyes revealed the humor within, Clint replied, "Wasn't going to."

Before Hill could stop him, Clint swooped in and planted a light kiss on her cheek. Again, she glared at him, but with a slight smile. "You caught me in an amicable mood today, or you'd be dead now."

At the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, Natasha stopped Hill from leaving. Grady came into the living room sans baby. "Princess Annabelle is finally asleep. Did you need anything else, Ms. Romanoff? Oh, sorry. Didn't know you had company."

Seeing that Clint wasn't going to do the honors, Natasha rushed to make introductions, "Maria Hill, this is Grady Tyler, Annabelle's manny. Grady, Maria is our friend and our boss."

Hill and Grady shook hands, the manny gracing the SHIELD commander with a smile of greeting. "Pleasure, ma'am."

"Grady." To Natasha and Clint, Hill said, "I'll take care of that other issue and get back to you." Before the agents could reply, she was gone.

**A Couple of Weeks Later**

At the knock, Clint opened the door. "Thanks for coming on such short notice, Grady."

"No problem, Mr. B. Morning, Ms. R. What's up?" His tone showed curiosity along with puzzlement.

"Please sit down. There are a few things we have to explain." Leveling her gaze at the caretaker, Natasha stood beside Clint in an attitude of seriousness. "As you know, Clint and I were involved in repelling the alien invasion a few months ago. What you may not know is that we also work for a top-secret government agency."

Clint continued, "And as such, anyone that works for us must be vetted by that agency. From his pocket, Clint took a badge similar to the ones used by lower level SHIELD agents and handed it to Grady. The manny stared at it, his eyes showing confusion when Clint smiled and extended his hand again. "Grady Tyler, welcome to SHIELD."

Though he kept his tone neutral, Natasha could see the man was baffled by their behavior as he automatically shook Clint's hand then did the same with Natasha. "What's SHIELD?"

Shoving both hands into his pockets, Clint took a few steps closer to Grady. "It's an acronym for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. Your acceptance of the position as Annabelle's manny automatically assumes that you've agreed to the restrictions and terms of our standard non-disclosure agreement. Anything that you see, hear or are a party to while in the employ of SHIELD is strictly confidential. Do you understand?"

Grady snorted. "I have an IQ of 167. Of _course_ I understand. What I don't get is why all the cloak and dagger?"

The smile Natasha had been sporting went away. "We're government agents, Grady. It shouldn't come as a surprise that we would have a thorough background check done on anyone in our employ."

"Still confused. Annabelle was orphaned in the invasion and the two of you adopted her?"

"Annabelle is _our_ child, born through a surrogate." Natasha didn't see a need to give Grady the entire story as she put the baby into his hands. However, Annabelle objected to the switch and said so loudly.

Grady gently bounced Annabelle until she stopped fussing. "I see."

Clint continued his welcome speech, "Your security level is two, with special circumstances. That means you don't carry a weapon, and have limited access on the carrier and at the compound. You won't be able to get into places like the armory, Operations or the research labs without one of us present. You will be allowed into the gym, locker rooms, Mess Hall and Medical Bay. Any level six or above will be able to grant you temporary access to other departments as is deemed necessary. Temporary can be anywhere from a few minutes to several days, at their discretion, which can be revoked at any time, again by anyone level six or above."

Though he seemed uncertain at this strange turn of events, Grady accepted the badge. "Thanks."

"Your clearance can be revoked at any time. On the other hand, it can also be increased, should the need arise. If at some point we feel it necessary for you to be armed, you'll be required to pass qualifications for same."

"Um, okay."

"We're also putting you down as Annabelle's godfather." Crossing his arms, Clint waited.

Grady opened and closed his mouth several times before saying, "I'm honored. I think. Just one question." One side of Grady's mouth twitched upward in a half-smirk. "Is Maria seeing anyone?"

~~O~~

By the time Annabelle had reached several of the bigger milestones in her development, lifting her head, rolling over, social smile, and grasping for objects, Natasha had been released to return to work full time.

Clint was more than a little annoyed with the shrink, Dr. Walter Hoffman, who refused to sign off on the archer's return to work because he felt that Clint was in denial regarding the events that led to the invasion. Their association culminated in a confrontation that didn't end well for either party and required intervention by Director Fury. With some persuasion on Fury's part, Clint was finally returned to work full time, and soon, Grady received a call. "Nat and I have to go out of town for business, and we need you to stay with Annabelle."

"_How long will you be gone?_"

"One to three weeks. Is that a problem?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "_No._ _ I can be there in an hour, Mr. Barton._"

In the months since Grady had taken on the task of being Annabelle's caretaker, Clint and Natasha made certain that the manny had been drilled in as many scenarios as possible, including what to do in case of another alien invasion.

Grady arrived, and as he went out the door, Clint tossed over his shoulder, "If I'm going to be gone longer than three weeks, Hill will give you a call." One of the archer's patented smirks appeared. "She does have your number, right?"

The smile on Grady's face froze then melted away. "Yes, though she's turned me down for a date every time I've asked. I think she's warming up to me though. She didn't say no this last time, just 'There's no room in my schedule at the moment'."

Coughing to cover a laugh, Clint told him, "She really _does_ like you. Anyway, I gotta go. Bye, Rosie." Clint gave his daughter one last kiss on the top of her head, now covered with hair that was turning red, and a wave on his way out the door. As he reached the stairs, he heard Grady talking to Annabelle telling her all the fun things they'd do while Mommy and Daddy were gone.

**Almost Two Years Later**

Hill stared at the monitor, uncharacteristically chewing on her lower lip. She forced herself to stop, nodding to the tech. "Has anyone else seen this?"

"No, ma'am."

"See to it that all information is sent directly to my personal network and remove all mention of this incident from SHIELD's systems. When you're done, forget you saw it. I'll take care of it myself." Before the tech could respond, Hill left the bridge and returned to her office. "Secure the office," she said to the air.

The room darkened as anti-monitoring measures were put into place by the computer. "Everything that happens within this room going forward is marked my and Fury's eyes only. Confirm."

On the wall monitor, she saw the word _Confirmed_

"Contact Agents Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton: Code Tango-five-niner." Graphics flowed across the screen again confirming Hill's order. "Once they've acknowledged, advise me of their ETA."

_Acknowledged, Commander Hill_

SHIELD's second-in-command sat at her desk watching the clock and drumming her fingers on her bicep as time ticked away. At the two-minute mark, the monitor lit up with two separate signals already on the move.

_ETA Quantico compound one hour_

"Inform Dr. Selvig." Graphics flowed across the screen until a response was received.

_Dr. Selvig acknowledges receipt of Code Tango-five-niner: "We'll be ready."_

~~O~~

Holding two-year old Annabelle, Grady stood with Natasha at the top of the ramp. Clint joined them carrying several duffle bags, and together they crossed the helipad and descended into the SHIELD compound, not stopping until they reached Selvig's lab. The little girl fussed the entire way.

"Want down, Gady. Pwease!"

"Soon, sweetheart."

Using her stuffed bunny to punctuate her words, she smacked Grady in the chest. "Down now!"

Once in the lift, Natasha took her daughter's hand. "_Nyet, __malyshka_. Not until we get there. We're going to see Uncle Nick and Aunt Maria."

"Unca Nick has _koshechka_ for me?" the girl said hopefully.

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Clint chuckled. To his daughter, he said, "You and Grady are going away for a while, but when you get back, we'll see about getting a cat."

The little red-haired girl stuck a finger in her mouth as she thought it over. "Pwomise?"

Natasha brushed hair from Annabelle's forehead. "_Da_, _malyshka._ Be a good girl for Grady, okay?"

Nodding, Annabelle tightened her hold on Grady's neck, and the manny smiled affectionately. "We'll be fine. Any idea how long we'll be gone?"

Huffing, Clint shrugged. "Once we neutralize this threat, we'll come and get you."

Shaking his head ruefully, Grady hitched the duffle bags higher on his shoulder. "Clint, when I came to work for you and Natasha, it never crossed my mind I'd be time-traveling."

The elevator came to a stop and the group stepped out into the enormous room, Grady pausing as he looked up at the ceiling nearly four stories above. Natasha gave him a nudge and he followed still holding tight to a wiggling Annabelle.

When they reached Selvig, he gave Grady a cursory glance then dismissed him for now. "We just have a few more tests of the targeting calculations to do before we power up."

Selvig returned to his computer giving the appearance that he'd already forgotten they were there.

Annabelle whispered urgently in Grady's ear, "Potty."

Natasha took them down a short flight of stairs and returned to watch over Selvig's shoulder with Clint though nothing they saw made sense to them. Every time Clint started to say something, he was stopped by Natasha's hand on his arm.

A few minutes later, Grady returned, holding Annabelle's hand. The little girl carried her favorite stuffed bunny under one arm, her blue eyes wide as she took in everything around her with intense curiosity. She must have sensed that something significant was happening because she kept her voice low as she asked questions about anything that happened to catch her attention.

The little girl and her caretaker joined Clint and Natasha, the adults talking quietly while Annabelle tugged on Grady's hand. In a no-nonsense voice he said, "Annabelle, stop."

A woman's voice spoke from Selvig's left. "Doctor, we're ready for testing."

"Ten percent to start increasing ten percent every fifteen seconds until we're at full power."

She nodded, her fingers touching the monitor in a sequence that seemed random to Clint, hesitating before tapping in the last command. "Initiating start-up sequence now."

When the indicator reached one hundred percent, the center of the device swirled and a loud pop echoed in the room. A dynamic flow of air pulled at everyone and through the portal they could see trees, a large boulder and what had to be part of a lake or a pond.

Clint reached for Annabelle just as the wind-tunnel effect ripped her stuffed bunny from her hand.

"ZAychik!" She twisted and pulled free, running toward where the toy had disappeared into the center of the portal, vanishing from this place and time. Through the portal, they could see Annabelle picking up ZAychik and looking around for her parents though they couldn't hear what she was saying.

Natasha, Clint and Grady ran after her, falling to the floor when the portal sputtered and shut down. Sparks erupted from the cable joins and moments later, the room was plunged into darkness so great that nothing could be seen.

"What the _hell_, Selvig! Turn it back on! Get our daughter back _now!_" Clint shouted.

The emergency lights came on illuminating the angry and frightened faces of Clint, Natasha and Grady standing in front of Selvig. Natasha reached for Selvig and Clint took her hand to keep her from hurting the scientist. Her red hair swirled around her shoulders as she fought to get herself under control. "_Chyort voz'mi_, Selvig! Hurry! She's alone in 1974. What if she gets injured or…"

Clint drew Natasha into a tight hug. "Sh! She'll be fine. We'll go after her ourselves as soon as he gets it up and running again."

Huffing, Selvig told Clint how he felt about having everything riding on his shoulders. "And we can't do that until power is restored."

"How long?" Grady asked for all of them. From his tone, Clint knew that the caretaker felt responsible, but he wasn't, and Clint let him know with a touch on the shoulder.

"If the power failure is localized to the lab, not long. If it's the building, a little longer. But if it's the entire grid, it could be hours or even days depending on the extent of the damage."

When Clint attempted to separate himself from Natasha, she held on even tighter. He whispered soothing words to her in Russian and she finally let go. "I'll go myself." He pointed at Selvig. "Keep working. No one leaves."

At the exit, Clint heard Grady's footsteps as he jogged to catch up. "I'll go with you, Clint. I'm useless here."

Nodding, Clint led him through the halls by the beam of the flashlight he'd taken from one of the guards. The slim hope Clint had that this would be solved within a few minutes sank with every darkened hallway they traversed. When they reached the maintenance area, no one was in evidence telling him all he needed to know. The outage extended far beyond the building or someone would've remained to answer questions. That the area was deserted told him that everyone had been sent to assist with the emergency.

Clint refused to return to the lab without something to tell Natasha and Selvig. His only alternative was to find someone who could give him information even if it was only "wait and see."

The men heard shouting up ahead and followed it to where Ryan Kripke was receiving reports via a hand-held radio. Clint skidded to a stop, Grady directly behind him. "Kripke?"

SHIELD's third-in-command heaved a long sigh, Kripke's eyes met Clint's and slowly shook his head.

**TBC**

**A/N:** Continued in the story "Between Past and Present." The prologue follows.


	7. Prologue

**A/N:** This is a prequel to _Between Past and Present_ where Clint and Natasha first meet their daughter, and does not take into account the events of _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. There is a small mention of_ Marvel's Agents of SHIELD_. It's all AU of course.

Thanks to ladygris for the Beta. I forgot to mention that the conversation between Clint and Natasha regarding Annabelle in chapter 2 was written entirely by her. Many thanks.

If you haven't read _Between Past and Present_, the prologue won't make sense.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Annabelle**

**A Tag to Between Past and Present**

**Prologue**

**Three Years and Six Months Later**

**The Barton-Romanoff Home**

Clint swooped in to kiss Natasha again just as Ainsley called out, "_Mum! Dad! It's time fer th' movie!_"

Clint stood, holding out his hand. Natasha put hers in it and together they went downstairs to join their daughter. Peeking into the living room watching Ainsley talking to her new friends, Natasha placed her hand over Clint's heart and her head on his shoulder. "We are the two luckiest people in the world."

He tilted her head up, dropping a kiss on her lips. "Yes, we are."

The doorbell rang, sending Clint and Natasha for two of the weapons hidden in the foyer. Taking out her phone, Natasha accessed the video feed from the hidden cameras on the front porch, surprised to see their daughter's former caretaker, Grady Tyler. She showed Clint, they replaced the weapons, and quickly opened the door. Clint put a finger to his lips for quiet. Natasha motioned and they all went into the workout room across the hall and shut the doors.

Natasha threw her arms around Grady's neck and hugged him tight. "It's so good to see you again, Grady."

The manny and Clint gave each other a manly back-slapping hug. "Welcome back."

"Thanks. I've been out of the country for over a year. Just heard Annabelle was home." Grady sat on the end of the bench press and Clint leaned on the side of the treadmill leaving the only chair for Natasha. "I wonder if she remembers me."

Clint rubbed the back of his head and sighed. "You can ask her yourself in a few minutes. Before you go in, there's something we have to tell you."

Grady looked from Clint to Natasha, his expression betraying a slight measure of fear. "What happened? She's not…"

"She's in perfect health, Grady," Natasha assured him. "The short version is Annabelle didn't end up in 1974 Iowa as planned."

Clint touched Natasha on the shoulder. "It took over three years, but Selvig and his team finally found her in Scotland near Loch Lomond in the late 1600s. Nat and I went and brought her back. However, we arrived later than we'd planned and…"

The door opened and Ainsley stuck her head in. "Mum, Dad? What's takin' so…" The girl's eyes fell on Grady. "Hullo. Mum 'n Dad dinnae say there be company comin' t'night."

Natasha held out her hand and Ainsley took it, her eyes not leaving Grady's face. "He surprised _us_ too, _malyshka_." Giving her daughter a tentative smile, Natasha slanted her eyes at Grady and back. "Before you went to Laomainn, you had a caretaker. Do you remember him?"

"Aye. I mean _yes_. He were called…" Ainsley's forehead pinched in thought then, she shook her head. "I dinnae remember. Just that he cared greatly fer all o' us."

"Yes, he did, and we for him. His name's Grady."

~~O~~

Though she was nearly as tall as her mother, Annabelle was still much shorter than Grady's six-one. So she wouldn't feel intimidated, he got down on one knee bringing his head just a little below hers. "Hello, Annabelle."

Grady's former charge inhaled sharply, her eyes very wide. "Th' sound o' yer voice. Talkin' 'n singin' 'n such. I remember now."

To Grady's surprise, Annabelle eyes filled with tears. She let go of her mother's hand and threw herself into his arms, hugging him tight. He touched her long red hair. "I've missed you, sweetie. And I'm sorry. It's my fault you were separated from your parents. It was my job…"

Annabelle's arms tightened fractionally, and over her shoulder Grady saw Natasha and Clint exchange a glance. The girl pushed out of his arms, keeping hold of one hand.

Natasha smiled sadly. "It wasn't _anyone's_ fault, Grady. Just a series of unfortunate accidents. She's home now, and you're here so let's just leave it."

"We're not saying don't talk about it. Just avoid placing blame," Clint added to his wife's mandate.

Reluctantly, Grady nodded. "So, Annabelle, did you ever get a cat?"

The girl's eyes lit up. She grabbed his hand and tugged. "Aye! Come see. They've just come today."

As Grady passed Clint and Natasha, he whispered, "_They?_"

In the living room, Annabelle was talking a mile a minute. "…'n that's why I'm called Ainsley now. Dad still calls me Rosie 'n ye can use Annabelle, if ye care to."

"Up to you, munchkin. They're all good names." He listened closely as she told him the names of all the cats, doing his best to remember who was who. "What about that one?"

A small gray and white cat sat watching the door slightly apart from the others. Ainsley smiled as she stroked Shadow between the eyes making her purr. "That's Mum's cat, Trouble. She stays with her when she be workin' at home. Scooter follows m' da all over, gettin' under his feet, watchin' when he's doin' his exercisin' 'n lyin' in his lap. Th' others just roam around 'n sleep wherever they wish."

Trouble meowed excitedly when Natasha and Clint joined them. She sat down, and the cat immediately jumped into her lap. "Would you like to stay for the movie, Grady?"

Purrcival, Jasper, Ichabod, Elliot and Dagwood vied for Grady's attention with the younger cats changing allegiances every few seconds. When she was small, Ainsley had wanted a cat and had been put off numerous times by her parents who were obviously hesitant to take on the responsibility of a pet. From what Natasha had said-and not said-she'd never had an animal companion as a child. Clint had grown up around tigers, bears, lions, chimpanzees, elephants, llamas, horses, ponies, and the occasional gorilla, but they could hardly be counted as pets as they were working animals. Maybe that's why Clint had given in so easily when he and Ainsley had gone to the shelter.

From the corner of his eye, Grady saw the affection that Ainsley's parents had for each other and were glad they had finally admitted to being in love. He'd seen it that first day, despite their protests otherwise. And now that their daughter had been returned to them, their family was complete. They didn't need the services of a manny, and to keep coming back would just be prolonging the inevitable. He would enjoy this time with them, and when the night was over, he would go and not look back, content with knowing they'd been reunited.

Ainsley finally stopped chattering and started the movie _Tangled_. Her parents left and returned a few minutes later with snacks and drinks for everyone, cats included. After the movie, Ainsley challenged Grady to a game on Wii. She won, but not because he let her. He made her fight for every inch, and she rewarded him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. It reminded him of the wet sloppy kisses she used to bestow on him before he left at the end of the day or at bedtime when Clint and Natasha were out of town, and made his decision that much harder.

Thankfully, Ainsley wound down and she was sent off to bed followed by the cats. Grady said his good-byes to her parents, got in his car and drove to his small apartment an hour's drive from the Barton-Romanoff home.

Without turning the lights on, Grady tossed his keys and wallet on the coffee table. He yawned while taking off his jacket then flopped down on the sofa, almost jumping out of his skin when a lamp flicked on and a voice said, "Good evening, Mr. Tyler. Agent Phil Coulson with SHIELD."

Grady stared at Coulson sitting in the armchair at right angles to the sofa. "How'd you get past the alarm?"

The man wore a plain dark blue suit, a matching striped tie and a light blue shirt, all well made. "That's not important. I'll knock next time."

"_Is_ there going to be a next time?"

The balding man looked completely at ease, his legs crossed at the knees and hands clasped together in front of him. "Depends."

"On?"

"Your answer."

Grady went into the kitchen and brought back two bottles of beer. Twisting the top off the first bottle, he offered it to Coulson. The agent accepted it and took a sip. Grady took a long drink from his bottle and made a face. "What's the question?"

Getting to his feet, Grady carried the empty bottles to the kitchen and returned with refills, handing one to Coulson.

"I've been tasked with putting together a special team. We could use someone with your talents."

With a wry chuckle, Grady sat down on the far end of the sofa, one arm hanging over the side, keeping his features blandly curious. "Why would a clandestine government agency need a nanny?"

"We're looking for people who have certain qualities."

"My marksmanship was good, but nothing worth writing home about. Same with hand-to-hand. I haven't trained in almost a decade. Probably couldn't hit the side of a barn now. What more could you want?"

"You have conviction. You won't compromise your principals just because they don't mesh with someone else's. And you love America." Coulson turned from looking out the window that had a lovely view of the parking lot. "When you left the Army, you were approached by the FBI, but turned them down to attend New York Central University where you received a dual Master's degree in Child Care and Early Childhood Education. Upon graduating, you took a position with the TLC Nanny Agency where you've been employed ever since. Your most recent position was as nanny to Sarah and David Summerfeld, the children of Darius Summerfeld, ambassador to Malcoria who recently resigned to help his wife care for her seriously ill mother. Though you offered assistance, the family preferred that you get on with your life."

Having Coulson list his so-called good qualities embarrassed Grady. "I _know_ what happened. What, exactly, is your point in bringing it all up?"

"I want you on my team. The position comes with perks, paid vacations, sick leave, a comprehensive medical/dental/vision plan, and a really cool hat." Coulson shifted his feet. "So what do you say, Mr. Tyler? Are you in?"

**The End**


End file.
